Monthly Archives: May 2010

Advice and judgement

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A few months ago, Catherine Newman ran a contest in which entrants were supposed to share the best piece of parenting advice they had received. Someone wrote that, with respect to infants, it was okay to sometimes feel like throwing the baby out of the window, as long as you don’t actually do it.

A number of years ago there was a particularly horrific local incident involving a young mother – a university student from Japan – who killed her two young children. I was discussing the case with a colleague, an extremely kind and gentle man, a devout church-going family man with a penchant for corny jokes. As we discussed the tragedy, he related that when his eldest was a colicky baby, he and his wife were often at their wits’ end, and that sometimes he felt like throwing her out the window.

This revelation shocked and outraged me, a sheltered, pampered, twenty-five year old non-parent. I couldn’t believe a parent would feel like that about their own child. I couldn’t believe that someone could feel that way and still be a loving, effective parent.

Fast forward several years when I was at home, alone, with a toddler who was not yet two and a colicky, sleepless infant. Sometimes my baby would scream, uninterrupted, for hours regardless of my efforts to feed, rock, and soothe him. Hours. I recall one incident when he cried for five straight hours before exhausting himself, as I walked the floor with him, singing and patting and attempting to feed him, all the while caring for my young toddler, by myself, while my husband was working long hours at the office. I understood completely. I felt like throwing the baby out the window, grabbing the car keys, and making a break for it.

I love my children like any mother does, an all-encompassing love, my greatest fear is that something will happen to them, and yet in the moment, I felt like giving up. I felt that way, me with my loving husband and parents in town and supportive friends, me with no worries about paying rent or putting food on the table, privileged, lucky me. If I could feel that way, how much worse would someone feel who was not fluent in the local language, someone with a deadbeat boyfriend and two young children to care for, someone with no friends and little money.

Perhaps some people will be shocked and outraged and think that I am a monster, but perhaps some will recall moments when they felt they were at the breaking point, and how easy it is to become perilously close to a tragic result. It’s the easiest thing in the world to pass judgement.

The Opposite of Toyland, or My Basement is a Recycling Plant

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In honour of Mother’s Day, posted on the wall beside Jake’s classroom is a list of all the children’s names and their response to the question, what makes moms special? I was happy to see Jake’s response, she gives me lots of hugs, as opposed to some of the children who said she buys me lots of toys. Whew. As a matter of fact I do not buy the children lots of toys, or really any toys, with the exception of birthdays and Christmas, but of course they HAVE lots of toys. I don’t know why we even have toys when we have cardboard boxes.

We just had some new furniture delivered: a new table and chairs, and a hutch, and it all came in cardboard boxes. Is this normal? I have no idea. In addition to three huge boxes which have turned into a spaceship, a clubhouse, and an airplane, Mark gathered together a large amount of packing material for his special project: a battle ship/ trap/ gigantic weapon. In other words, our basement looks like a recycling plant. I am torn between being happy that the kids are playing creatively in such an old-fashioned childhood way and also being somewhat distressed at the extreme visual chaos this has caused.

Speaking of chaos, before we sold our old table, my husband disassembled it for storage and transport.

Surfing!

I have to admit I felt completely overwhelmed when the furniture was delivered and the house was littered with giant heavy boxes and the kids were bouncing off the walls with excitement and the dog was howling outside at the commotion. I was surprised to see the table was delivered in a large, very flat box, so I asked the delivery man if the legs were inside. He replied that they were, and I would have to attach the legs myself. “Like, with a screwdriver?” I said inanely, to which he smiled and suggested perhaps I could get someone male to help me. I’m doing wonders for feminism over here, people. Wonders.


Jake also really enjoys playing with eggplants. Bizarrely, he calls them his little doggies. I was slicing one up and he was shocked. No! Don’t eat my doggie!

Mother, that sailor suit doesn’t fit anymore.

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How was your weekend? I hope all you moms had a lovely Mother’s Day. Mine was quite lovely. My husband and the boys took me to the garden centre on Saturday, a.k.a. my happy place. Then it snowed a little. Yes, Mother Nature, I bought plants before the long weekend. Thank you for reminding me why I shouldn’t.

But today was pleasant and sunny which was great as Jake had a field trip to the zoo. On the bus. Without me. I was a teensy bit freaked out about it. I kept envisioning all sorts of insane scenarios: the bus crashing, the school losing him and some crazy person snatching him, animals escaping from enclosures only to stalk and eat him or, alternately, give him some sort of unknown feral disease. You know, just the normal things that a normal mother would worry about. I actually considered not signing the permission slip, but really. Is that a good way to parent? Is that a good message? You are only safe if mommy is with you at all times. Wow, I just creeped myself out writing that.

Did you ever see that Simpsons episode – from many, many years ago when I used to actually watch The Simpsons – where Principal Skinner is using puppet therapy to deal with his overbearing mother? “Mother, I’m a grown man. That sailor suit doesn’t fit anymore!” I don’t want to be like that, not that any of my children ever wore sailor suits, such suits being the height of lame childhood clothing in my opinion.

It’s my goal to have the boys end up independently functioning, contributing members of society, as opposed to 40ish men living in my basement watching daytime television and hiding their porn magazines under their mattresses, claiming that I’m their best girl and that they could never leave me. So this is my first step: a field trip without me. I sat on the school steps waiting for his bus to arrive, saw his happy, proud face in the window, and I felt like it was a very good day.

May there always be mama

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This morning the pre-kindergarten hosted a Mother’s Day Tea. In related news, I am a complete emotional mess. The kids were so cute, serving up fruit salad and cotton-ball-decorated cards, and sang the following tear-inducing song: “May there always be sunshine, may there always be blue skies, may there always be mama, may there always be me.” I cried a little just typing that, so you can imagine the verklempt, grimace-y, trying-not-to-hysterically-sob face I made through the remainder of the tea. Pretty!

It seems trendy this year to discuss why Mother’s Day sucks: it’s a busy day trying to please mothers, mothers-in-law, and selves; husbands say things like “You’re not MY mother”; moms just want to feel appreciated, dammit, so where is my breakfast in bed? One writer discussed how she should get TWO gifts, one from husband and one from child, and they had better be worthwhile, buddy, because she carried the baby for nine months and lost her fabulous figure in the process – her t&a has never returned to their former glory, so bring on the jewellery and spa trips. And while I understand, to some extent – mothers frequently do feel or actually are underappreciated, it would be nice to have a day where everyone else picks up the drudge-related slack, it is very difficult to juggle family obligations, gifts certainly are lovely – I also feel these sorts of complaints are just categorically wrong.

This morning during school drop-off, a little boy in Mark’s class tripped and fell – not hard, he wasn’t hurt – and began sobbing loudly and dramatically. This little boy lost his mother several months ago, before he was even five years old. I picked him up and hugged and kissed him and he was instantly, miraculously FINE. This little boy is going to spend the weekend, Mother’s Day weekend, without his mother. Last year she celebrated Mother’s Day not knowing it was her last one.

If you have to make your own breakfast, rather than being served it in bed, it is really not that bad.

May the Fourth Be With You

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Happy Star Wars/ Luke Skywalker Day! Less festively for the fourth day of May, we have been having a blizzard. There was a winter storm warning AND a wind warning last night, which is somewhat disheartening. Have you read The Long Winter, with all the descriptions of the Ingalls family twisting hay to burn for fuel and slowly starving to death because none of the trains could go through and having blizzards last for three days with no one leaving the poorly heated house because they could get lost in the snow and die? So in this day and age it’s not really so dire that it’s snowing in May. There are many, many worse things in the world than a daytime high of 1 degree Celsius and 100 km/hour winds, even on the fourth of May. It is QUITE depressing though.

I loved the Little House books when I was a kid; I desperately wished for long braids, a futile wish since my mother cruelly had my hair cut in one of those horrible early 80’s mushroom cuts. I wanted a sunbonnet and a slate pencil; I longed for my very own tin cup and attic bedroom. The reality is that life was terribly hard and often tragic back then, with disease and death and malnutrition, with much hardship and often thankless, backbreaking work and terrible poverty.

Frequently I will hear someone speak of wanting to live a simpler life, and the solution is generally to just buy less stuff, unpopular though that might be. Idealizing the simple life of yesteryear is somewhat flawed: not many of us would choose to live a life without modern medicine and educational opportunities, a life in which we would wake up to frozen washwater in the winter and the untimely death of a cow meant a significant loss of nutrition for your family. It’s important to remind oneself that we are fortunate to live in the modern age, something I am reminding myself of today because MY WORD the children are driving me crazy with their pent up, very noisy, forced-indoors energy. If May-appropriate weather does not soon return, I am in serious danger of losing my sanity. As it is, people, I am this close to locking myself in the bathroom, cranking up the heat and drinking margaritas while singing Jimmy Buffett tunes. Which sounds kind of fun, actually, although I will settle for some wine after the kids are in bed, which is very soon. Thank goodness for the modern age and the availability of wine.